Were It Not For You
by elecktrum
Summary: Beauty, I have learned since coming to Narnia, is not a thing to be judged on the surface. A pretty face and winning ways can hide an evil heart, and good conduct does not automatically equate to good intent. . .
1. Prologue: Eustace

**Were It Not For You**

**by elecktrum**

A/N Once again, my dears, I'm battling it out with writer's block. Worst case to date, I think. So far I've been losing the fight, so this story is getting written at a snail's pace, even slower than _Thole_ if that's possible. In short, I suspect this one's gonna take forever. Posting this prologue, though, is my promise to keep at it until it's done. My thanks go out to Zarz, whose review of _Passing Down the Crown_ gave me the idea for introducing this story. The rating will change later on, too, because things will intensify down the road.

**Prologue: Eustace**

There are only so many places a chap can hide on a boat the size of the _Dawn Treader_, but so help me Edmund was doing an excellent job of disappearing. His unexpected outburst of an hour ago caught everyone from Caspian all the way down to the sailor he berated completely off guard. It was not like Edmund to explode like that (up until two weeks ago when I had been un-dragoned, such explosions had been my responsibility), and after he stomped off Lucy was almost in tears as we tried to figure out what could have sparked his fury.

So far as I could tell there had been nothing unusual happening. We had finished the evening meal (salted beef . . . again; the diet here is a challenge for anyone's digestion) and we were sitting about while Reepicheep regaled us with adventures he'd had as a child. If half of what he said was true then it's amazing he survived past his fourth birthday. The men not involved with sailing the ship were sitting about doing small tasks and a few of them were singing. I noticed that Edmund wasn't paying attention to the Mouse. He was looking to the front of the boat and there was an expression on his face that was positively chilling. I had seen him cross in the past, I had seen him sneer and frown and smirk. But I had never seen such a look on his face before in my life. If that was the expression he wore in battle then I could see why Narnia had never lost a war while he and his siblings reigned. I was struck dumb by shock because Edmund, who never seemed to lose his composure, looked positively murderous. Here. On the _Dawn Treader_. In the middle of the ocean. With the same people we'd been stuck here with for well over two months now.

He looked much taller when he stood up and I saw the anxiety that filled Caspian's face as Edmund strode past him. I was glad I wasn't the only one that noticed the sudden change in him. The king and I exchanged a look, each hoping the other would know what was the problem. Neither of us had the answer.

I scrambled to my feet to follow him, fairly certain I could escape my cousin's wrath since I was good at deflecting ire and fairly impervious to harsh looks. I hung back a few steps as Edmund approached the sailor that was singing. I listened to the words carried by the breeze. The song seemed formless, but it had an appeal that I suppose someone more romantic than me would call haunting.

_Were it not for you _  
_I would be nothing_  
_for I would no longer be._  
_Were it not for you_  
_my life would be_  
_an empty, longing echo_  
_of what a life should be._

_I am yours as you are mine._  
_Depend on me_  
_my love_  
_my strength_  
_and the strength of my devotion_  
_O my love._

Edmund stopped a few paces away, staring at the man. The sailor halted, surprised, the words dying on his lips as he was confronted by the king of old.

"Where did you learn that?" demanded Edmund, his voice low and almost trembling with emotion.

The young man flushed. "A - a Narnian taught me it, Sire. A Nymph I met at Kellsalter. She promised to wait for me."

"She taught you that song? Did she tell you anything about it?"

Nervous and intimidated by Edmund's intensity, the seaman said, "The song, King Edmund? She . . . all she said was that it was from the Golden Age, or - or some time around then, remembered by her people." He stared at Edmund, at how pale he grew. "Sire?"

"That was _not_ a song," hissed Edmund so savagely that Caspian rose, ready to intervene. My cousin looked capable of any violence. There was something about his stance, by the way his eyes narrowed, that spoke of a personal affront.

"Edmund," Caspian said quietly, drawing near. He put his hand on Edmund's arm. That was a mistake. Edmund started, shaking him off. He cast his fellow king a hard, angry look before he stalked off below decks. We watched him go in shocked silence. Caspian and I exchanged a swift glance and a shrug, and we both looked to Lucy. Wide-eyed, slack-jawed, Lucy was no wiser than we and she shook her head in disbelief.

"Let's give him a little while," Caspian suggested. He looked to the sailor. "Honder, quietly now, sing us that song."

I listened to the words. It was a love song, a declaration of devotion and a promise to be true and fast. Unless you disliked such sentimentalities there was nothing offensive about it. We could find no reason for Edmund's reaction.

"Perhaps the one who composed it is known to him?" suggest Caspian, sounding doubtful.

"Bad memories, maybe," I replied. "Lucy?"

"I never heard the song before," said she. "It's very pretty, and it does sound like the music of our age."

We gave Edmund a chance to cool his heels before Lucy and I set out to find him. Reepicheep and Caspian wanted to help in the search but Lucy dissuaded them, knowing her brother's temper. He was less likely to lash out at family. I went fore, Lucy went aft, and we sought King Edmund high and low.

Finally, just as I was about to give up and let him mope, I found him. If I had thought about it, I would have looked here first because he was in just about the only place in the _Dawn Treader_ that one could hope to get a bit of privacy – Caspian's cabin, the one that the king had given over to Lucy to use. I had overcome my resentment of Lucy having the best accommodations when I realized the only alternative would be to share a cabin with her – it was far better to kip with Caspian and Edmund even if my cousin did snore (a fact which he denied).

He sat on the bunk, not quite over his fury yet. I admit I was surprised by his capacity for wrath. The first thing I got upon entering was a scowl, and then a long sigh escaped him. There was a locker of sorts opposite the bunk and I sat down on it, waiting for his mood to improve. It was a long wait, but finally his anger faded. That or he was just too tired to maintain a surly frame of mind. He was out of practice, just as I was.

"He didn't mean anything by it," I finally said when I was sure it was safe. "Honder. To him it's just a song."

Edmund raised his eyes to mine. There were occasions – and this was one of them – when his eyes were far too old for a mere boy. There was depth and pain and ancient memory reflected in them. A heavy price had been paid for Narnia's Golden Age, of that I was certain.

"Just a song," he echoed. "Have you ever had something stolen from you, Eustace?"

"Well, I suppose Pug stole my freedom, but I got it back. No. I've lost things, but I can't think of anything someone's _taken_ from me."

"You're lucky."

"I suppose I am."

We were silent for a long while, and I was astonished to realize that for the first time, silence in company did not make me uncomfortable. Finally I stirred.

"Was the song stolen from you?" I wondered, not certain if my question would spark more anger. Normally I would not have cared if my cousin was cross, but now . . . I didn't want there to be such tension onboard the _Dawn Treader_. We might be together for a very long time and getting along was a necessity. Even I could see that.

He looked at me. Even sitting in the same small cabin Edmund Pevensie was a million miles away.

"Among other things," he finally whispered. "And it wasn't a song. It was an oath of fealty."

An oath of fealty. The way he said it seemed to fill the room, and I felt a little shiver at the emotion behind those words.

"Did you write it?"

"No, I didn't. But I did write it down in my private journal."

"Your – oh."

I realized, now, why he was so angry. Someone had read his journal. Someone had violated his privacy and made known what was clearly very near to his heart. Someone had been very indiscreet indeed. It didn't matter to him that in this land over a millenium had passed - to him it was barely a year ago that he and his family had stumbled out of Narnia. I felt a pang of guilt even though I was guiltless. Up to the point where I had met Aslan, I probably would have been so callous and indiscreet, given the opportunity.

Edmund stood up, covering the distance to the window in three strides. He looked out at the wake, at the setting sun, and when he spoke his voice was soft, barely audible over the sound of waves and water, as he recited the oath of fealty to me.

_I will always be at your back_  
_and by your side_  
_and I will place myself _  
_between you and evil._

_I will defend you with _  
_my sword,_  
_my words,_  
_my body,_  
_and my love._

_I will serve you,_  
_as you have served me,_  
_as we both serve Narnia_  
_and her Creator._

_Let me keep your fears at bay_  
_and let me convince you_  
_that you deserve all this and more,_  
_my king._

_Were it not for you _  
_I would be nothing_  
_for I would no longer be._  
_Were it not for you_  
_my life would be_  
_an empty, lonely echo_  
_of what a life should be._

_I am yours as you are mine._  
_Depend on me_  
_my love_  
_my strength_  
_and the strength of my devotion_  
_O my king._

It wasn't quite the same as the song. It was stronger. Deeper. Powerful. What had inspired this oath? It was a better oath than a song, and despite himself Edmund spoke the words with great emotion. More than he intended, of that I was certain. Or maybe not, since he was a king and this his land and he had no fear of expressing himself when he wished.

"I'm sorry," I said for the first time in my life. It was not so difficult to say because I meant it honestly.

"Being a king was a lot like being on this boat. There was almost no privacy. We were always on display. Most of the time I didn't mind, but there were times when it was bloody annoying." He pursed his lips, turning around to face me. "If I had known this would happen I wouldn't have kept a journal at all."

"Edmund," I began, and then halted. Who was I to lecture him, a king? It was too late, though, I had his full attention and he was waiting for me to continue. Well, if I couldn't lecture a king I could lecture my cousin. "They don't know what it means to you. To them it's just an old love song. You said yourself so much of the old Narnia was lost, but your subjects remembered it for over 1,300 years. Whoever said those words the first time said something worth keeping."

He stared at me with an intensity that was, I'll admit, intimidating.

"Peter swore that oath, Eustace."

I gasped, astonished. Peter? My opinion of my eldest cousin had been revised since I'd seen the awe and respect that the Narnians expressed every time he was mentioned. But to think that Peter Pevensie, whom I had once called a stuffed shirt, could write something so deep and moving . . . I was amazed.

"To Aslan?" I wondered.

Edmund shook his head. "No. To me."


	2. Chapter One: An Early Spring

**Were It Not For You**

**Chapter One: An Early Spring**

_In the Month of Fairdawn, Narnian Year 1003_

"King Peter!"

I paused in mid-stride, trying not to growl as my valet, Silvo, came hurrying after me on tiny hooves. He was panting and nervous, which was nothing new since Fauns in general were anxious creatures. I turned, taking care not to hit him with the fishing poles I was carrying. Edmund and I had been trying for an eternity to sneak away and fish for trout in a particular stream just south of the palace. We had discovered the stream a year ago in one of our many wanderings (Edmund insisted we were not wandering, but that we were lost, but it is hard to get lost in Narnia when you can ask almost any tree for directions). We planned on catching our breakfast, exploring some cliffs on the coast, and hiding for as long as we could until royal duties compelled us to get back to work. It was the first time in ages we had started our day without a morning of drilling on the training grounds. General Oreius had freed everyone for a day – a treat as rare as snow in Calormen and not to be questioned – and ordered me and Edmund to go act our ages.

"Yes, Silvo?"

"Your Majesty, pray do not forget that the embassy from Archenland is coming today. They're expected in the late afternoon."

"I haven't forgotten, Silvo. Queen Susan hasn't let me forget for a moment."

"Duchess Aneles and her daughter Lady Anelata will be accompanying the mission."

"Yes, I know. Another thing my sister won't let me forget. Most likely the ladies are on a hunting trip of their own," I replied.

"Hunting?" wondered my valet. Foreigners were not allowed to hunt in Narnia - the potential for accidental murder was far too high to allow anyone not familiar with our people shoot at anything except straw targets.

"Yes," I said, resuming walking. "Husbands are always in season. Didn't you know that?"

I smirked as Silvo gaped, and then with a wry look he caught on. He fell back a few steps, saying after me,

"I understand that both ladies are accomplished and fair!"

"Aren't they all?" I called back to him. "We'll see you later!"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Fortunately for me and Edmund, the cooks packed us a hamper with enough food to feed a hungry Centaur. Between the pair of us we caught a total of three fish, none of which would have fed a Mouse. We spent a chilly, soggy, buggy morning proving to each other and the world that trout fishing was a skill which neither of us had acquired, nor was it likely we would acquire it before lunch. We certainly had fun proving it though, and by mid-morning we abandoned all hope of burned fish for breakfast and instead applied ourselves to cold game pie and mushroom pastries. It was only with great reluctance that we left something for lunch.

We went climbing on the cliffs next, much to the chagrin of our personal guards. They had (out of mercy or fear for their safety) stayed well away while we demonstrated our inability to catch fish. Now they came out in nervous force to see us risking life and limb just to get to the top of the cliffs, a thing most of them could not understand, especially when there was a perfectly good and convenient path not a bowshot from where we started.

"That's Yoli," said Edmund, shaking his head as a long, baying howl echoed off the cliffs. He did not even have to look down to recognize the voice. The inevitable pack of Dogs had finally tracked us down and they were barking for us to leave off this foolishness and come back to them where we would be safe with four paws on the ground.

I looked at the broad, sandy beach below, now churned up by many feet, and heard a faint, piercing yap. "La, and that's Kep."

Edmund groaned. The Dachshund was, to say the least, a short teller of tall tales. "He'll have us dead six times over if they let him get back to the Cair first."

"They better not have found our hamper," I added, wondering what Narnian laws, if any, protected unattended food.

To the dismay of the Dogs, we kept on scaling the rough stone face. They need not have been so antsy. The ground to the south of the palace was low and gentle, and the cliffs here were not nearly as high as the ones at Kellsalter to the north of Cair Paravel and we had climbed them time and again and survived. It was quite easy since they sloped a little inland and there were handholds and footholds aplenty. Besides, Edmund and I each had three Mountain Goats among our personal guards, courtesy of General Oreius. They were perfectly at home on cliffs and I knew that all six – two sets of triplet brothers and cousins all – were close by in case we slipped or got stuck.

We were spared any such indignities as we achieved the summit of the cliff. The view was unparalleled and the day was nothing short of glorious. Panting and sweaty, Ed and I collapsed on the warm rocks and let the gentle winds off the Eastern Sea cool us. We could see Cair Paravel sitting golden and serene atop Mount Paravel like some beautiful maiden looking out across the waves. Birds rode the warm breeze, singing their songs, and the Dryads rustled their leaves in appreciation. Before us the cliffs dropped off to the sea, while behind us, the ground was rocky for a short distance before it leveled out and became the forest that covered the rolling hills to the south of the palace. The main route along the coast wove through the woods nearby, a path that was said to reach all the way from the frozen land of Frinn on the Great Northern Sea where the Ice Dragons live, down through the Wild Lands of the North and bleak Ettinsmoor and thence to Narnia and Archenland and Calormen and to the strange, blistering hot southern lands beyond where salamanders thrive.

It was at this point the Dogs decided to brave the steep path up the cliffs (little realizing an even easier path around the cliff and up the slope was not half a mile further south) and come to our rescue. A barking cloud of dust began climbing toward us, and Edmund sighed and shook his head.

"They are a blessing of Aslan," he reminded himself.

"And mighty Aslan has a sense of humor," I provided dryly.

"Only in Narnia are jokes born and not made."

We laughed, and the three Brothers Nani - Rang, Rung, and Ring - and the three Brothers Bili - Hiro, Hint, and Hark - climbed up to join us. They were a handsome lot and rather impressive for Goats, being very large and strong and agile creatures, and they were eternally patient with our comparatively plodding and graceless climbing abilities. It was almost impossible to tell them apart unless they were talking – they all had long, silky white coats and curling black horns and the same dark, intelligent eyes.

"Someone approaches, Your Majesties," they reported.

We checked on the progress of our rescuers. They were slowing, having started at a dead run without consideration to the angle of ascent. They were also getting quieter as the dust choked them. Kep had given up entirely if, indeed, he had ever started.

"Yes, we gathered," I said, gesturing at our approaching blessings.

"Naaaay," said one, and I knew by his tone that it was one of my guards, Rang Nani. He sniffed the air and stamped his hoof. "From the south, on the coastal path."

Edmund and I exchanged a long-suffering look and a sigh. It could only be the Archenlanders. They were early. Very early.

"Ask the captain to send out scouts," I said. "See how far away they are."

"See if we have time to escape," murmured Edmund. He glanced up as Talking Birds wheeled overhead and set out on their mission. "I knew we should have gone north."

I grinned and called a final order to the scouts. "If it is the Archenland ambassador, pray send word to Cair Paravel as well so that they can . . . fuss," I finished, knowing full well that all preparations were laid by already.

The grim news came by a Bobolink courier already en route to us. The ambassador's party was a mere ten minutes away by horse. In all decency we could not run off with them so close by, but since they were so early we felt under no obligation to do more than smooth our windblown hair and straighten our tunics. Sure enough, within ten minutes we could hear the jingle of harnesses and voices raised and the party, escorted by three Satyr heralds, burst into our clearing a few moments after the exhausted Dogs made it to the top of the cliff.

Collapsing canines and startled horses made for a noisy and nervous meeting as the heralds skid to a halt to bow to me and my brother. The Archenlanders, so conscious of etiquette, hardly expected to see the Kings of Narnia so far from the palace, let alone in such a state of disarray, and nary a one of them knew what to do. The Dogs, who seemed to have no memory of the planned visit from Archenland, made a half-hearted attempt at fierceness and let out a few raspy barks before dropping down on our feet, panting heavily and pinning us where we stood. Edmund and I, covered with dust and dog hair as we tried to assist our cousins, made a less-than-impressive showing. Of us all, though, only the Dogs cared less than we kings.

"Prince Vanine," I said to the elderly gentleman, cousin of King Lune. "Be welcome once again to Narnia. Welcome, Archenland," I called to the rest of the party. "Aslan's blessing upon you all."

"And upon you, O Kings of Narnia, and all you hold dear. The unexpected sight of Your Majesties gives me great joy," Vanine replied. He was a likeable old chap, clever and witty and not so full of himself that he could not adapt quickly. It was a useful trait in a diplomat, one that he was exercising freely at the moment. He suppressed a smile as Edmund almost toppled over from Dogs pressing close and heavy to his legs. "I hope we find Your Majesties and your fair sisters in good health."

"Blooming, sir," said I. "Pray, do not delay for our sakes. My brother and I will see you later this evening. We've sent word to the palace and you are expected. Your party will be made most welcome."

Wise enough to know when to depart, Vanine inclined his head. "After two days of travel a rest will be most welcome, High King. Until this evening, Your Majesties."

I nodded in turn, smiling to see them leave. The party of knights and nobles rode slowly past to allow each Archenlander to bow his head and salute us. I was just thinking how strange it was to see so many humans at once when I found myself looking into an astonishingly pretty face.

Flaxen hair and ice blue eyes were what struck me first. Creamy skin, a blush of rose on her cheek, and a shy smile soon followed that initial impression as I got my first look at Lady Anelata of Chlanda-on-Wye, heiress of the late Duke Dean and his wife, Duchess Aneles. She was as fair as spring and as lovely to behold, and I found I did not want to look away.

A sweet smile, a nod, and then she was followed by an older, equally beautiful woman, much like the girl save that her coloring was stronger. The great resemblance between the two told me that this had to be the lady's mother, though she looked so young that they could almost have been mistaken for sisters. The smile she cast was more assured and she inclined her head gracefully to us kings before they rode on to Cair Paravel.

Edmund extracted himself from the pile of canines lazing atop him and stood close by as I watched the ambassador's party ride away. He frowned impatiently.

"Peter!"

"Hmm?" I turned my attention to him, surprised at his annoyance.

"Calm down. You've seen girls before."

"None so pretty," I replied.

He snorted. "They've all been pretty. _You_ just haven't been paying attention."


	3. Chapter Two: His Shining Parts

**Were It Not for You**

**Chapter Two: His Shining Parts**

A/N Yes, I'm alive. No, I haven't abandoned or forgotten this story, though the writer's block is still going strong and my fickle muse is still off frolicking in _Fusion Fall_. My thanks to the1hobbit for pestering me, Miniver for beta reading for me, and Warrior4 for the noble name Virtus.

Sigh. Got the chapter number wrong with the first posting. Never let it be said I can count.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

For the past three years, almost every morn from Firstday to Sixthday, I have risen before dawn to dress in armor and spend the first few hours of the day training for battle. I will admit that there have been times when I have not relished the idea of leaving my warm bed to shiver in the chill morning air, but it is only very, very rarely that I actually dread going down to the training grounds.

This was one such morning. Indeed, I could scarce remember a time when I dreaded facing the army's most skilled officers and my fellow knights more. For once even my own brother was ranged against me, as evidenced by the smirk he kept trying to hide every time he looked my way (which he did far more often than usual this morn, the little beast).

"Stop it, Edmund," I said under my breath in a little sing-song threat as I buckled greaves on my shins.

"I haven't done anything!"

I looked up from the task at hand. "You're thinking. Stop it."

"If anyone knows how, it will be you, Peter!"

He was far, far too pleased with himself and he was exploiting events to the fullest, all at my expense. I retaliated by yanking the strap on his helmet a little too tight, producing a quiet gag out of him.

"Are you quite through, good my brother?" I demanded.

"All right, Peter," he exclaimed, knowing I was as fed up as I was in need of allies. "I've laughed my last. I promise."

I leveled a hearty glare at him, not quite believing him.

"Lion's tail and whiskers, Peter, she meant it as a compliment. You know how formal the Archenlanders are! She's been memorizing that speech since they left Anvard I'd warrant."

Edmund's dark, earnest eyes shone with quiet mirth and understanding. It was impossible to stay cross or cling to my indignation when he looked at me so. I sighed and shook my head, surrendering.

Last night, during the formal presentation of the Archenlander envoy, Lady Aneles, Duchess of Chlanda-on-Wye, had made a very decorous and cloying speech that could only have been designed to flatter me into oblivion. It was the sort of adoration Susan usually received from hopeful noblemen and distant kings, and one small mercy was that it was a speech and not a poem. While it was well meant, it was also terribly embarrassing to sit and listen as this high-born lady went on at length about me (somehow my siblings were spared this distinction) and used such phrases as 'noble brow' and 'righteous strength.' Worst of all, and the source of Edmund's amusement, was a particularly flowery phrase detailing my 'shining parts.'

From the moment she uttered those words I knew I was doomed. Narnians for the most part do not make use of such high-blown phrases and silly adjectives. We leave such saccharine speech to the Calormenes, who know how to turn words into flowers and honey. Even our poetry tends to be very direct and plain.

As Duchess Aneles spoke I did not dare look at Edmund as he sat beside me on his throne. Instead I stared at Sir Giles. It was a mistake, because the Fox was trying very hard not to be distracted from his duties as Chamberlain by his very great (and growing) amusement. I glanced at Sir Peridan, himself an Archenlander by birth, and by his sober expression I guessed that the duchess was quite sincere. So used was I to King Lune and his brother Prince Lunel and their jolly, easy-going ways that I little realized the rest of Archenland's nobility were of a different cast altogether. This was not the sort of thing I would be allowed to live down easily. High King Peter the Magnificent (and yes, Aneles hit upon my title often in her speech) could silence the court at Cair Paravel with ease, but Sir Peter Wolfsbane was at the mercy of his general and the swordmasters.

It wasn't until Edmund and I were preparing for bed late last night that the teasing began in earnest. Folding his arms, he looked at me askance and asked, "So is it your noble brow or your wheaten locks that classify as your shining parts? I had no notion Silvo polished your head so much as to be visible from Anvard. I feel so dreary by comparison."

My brother, at least, I could and did beat with a pillow. My teachers, however . . .

"Come on, Peter," said Edmund, handing me my shield. "Get it over with. I'll be with you. We can dazzle them together and whatever they mete out, they'd best be prepared to have it returned twofold."

Despite this valiant reassurance, I dragged my feet, cursing public audiences and wagging tongues. I had never known greater gossipers and rumormongers than soldiers. They were worse even than the old Hens that gathered around the herb gardens pretending to tend the plants when in fact they were blathering about one another. Granted at times such sources of information were priceless, but right now I would have given almost anything not to walk out onto the training grounds and face this shining humiliation.

As usual Narnia's general and her swordmasters were present along with other instructors and students, including the sons of Peridan, Jaer and Jaerin. Luckily they had not been in the throne room last night, though both boys looked at me with such interest that I knew they had been talking to the Archenlanders and the soldiers.

Sure and cool, the officers and swordmasters watched as we crossed the yard to present ourselves. By their controlled expressions and glittering eyes I knew that they were trying very hard to contain their glee at my painfully obvious reluctance to leave the armory. General Oreius, chief among them, did the honors. Arms folded across his massive chest, the Centaur slowly walked all the way around me and my brother, his head angled in curious contemplation as he examined me from every angle. His iron-shod hooves and the squeak of his armor and weapons were the only sounds as everyone turned to watch their king get teased by an expert. I swear even the Birds had shut up for a moment to listen in. Finally he stood before me, tall and imposing and thoroughly amused by my glower.

"So," he said, that one word shattering the silence. "Sir Peter." He looked me up and down again. "Am I to understand that parts of you are . . . shiny?"

Through clenched teeth I growled, "No, Sir."

He looked over at his peers, Kanell and Celer and Peridan, with feigned surprise. "So rumor does not serve?"

They were fortunate I loved them all dearly and called them my cousins. Otherwise I would have gladly seen the lot of the dumped into the Eastern Sea. "King Peter may be possessed of shining parts, Sir, but save for his armor, Sir Peter is a dull fellow."

"I can attest to that," Edmund said, championing my cause a little too quickly. "Oh," he added, realizing, then muttered, "Sorry, Pete."

Oreius leaned in close. "How dull?"

I glared, seeing a chance to exercise some rhetoric. "As dull as my sword."

His hand strayed toward his mighty blade, Virtus, even as I closed my grip on Rhindon. Celer motioned people to back away, knowing what had to follow.

"Prove as much," the general challenged.

I felt myself smirk, leaning forward in kind. "With pleasure."

If nothing else was accomplished that rigorous morn, at least Narnia's army learned that next to Sir Peter Wolfsbane, High King Peter was a lackluster chap despite his shining parts.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

The weather turned that afternoon from sun to fog, much to the pleasure of Sra Sysyks, a learned scientist who was trying to devise a means of predicting the weather. Two days ago the Monitor Dragon had called for rain before the sun set today and he was inordinately pleased to see the weather take a downturn. He hissed a happy laugh as he walked through the great hall with me and Sir Peridan, for Susan had invited them, along with their families and a few other notables of the court, to tea this afternoon with the nobles from Archenland. I was still getting odd and amused looks thrown my way, not for being in the company of an immense, brick-red lizard, but because my subjects were trying to see if I was somehow gleaming. After getting my indignation out on the training grounds this morn at least I could laugh along with my cousins now over the notion of gaining renown for spotlessness.

"Were you acquainted with the late duke and his wife in Archenland, Peridan?" I asked.

He did not answer immediately, which was in a way answer enough, and when he spoke his words and tone were chosen with care. "My wife and I have met them on several occasions at Anvard, King Peter, though I cannot say we were intimate or friendly with either, not being part of their circle. Duke Dean did not invite close relationships, being very much involved in politics at Anvard, and the duchess, while of a more welcoming aspect, was much the same."

"I see." While I was curious to know more, I would not pry and put Peridan in an awkward situation, so I let it drop. I wondered what he meant by the duke's circle, because Peridan was exactly the sort of chap I wanted by my side be it in battle or the council chamber. Still, the court at Anvard was structured very differently than that of Cair Paravel and what little he said I took as a warning. It would be interesting to hear what Edmund had to say about this bit of information. I looked down at my lizard companion as he swung his angled legs forward in a steady, weaving gait, and seized upon a new topic. "Sra!"

"Majesssty?" asked the Monitor, his long tail lashing the air.

"I hope your prediction that the morrow will be sunny comes true."

"It will, King Peter. The clouds say as much. Rain tonight will wash the sky clean. Have you wagered upon it as the Muskrats have?"

"If I had known they were taking stakes, I would have. No. I've just promised to watch Ricanus' cubs in the afternoon and I wanted to take them to the beach."

Peridan smiled. "Are you watching them _all_, Majesty?"

"Yes. There are only five of them."

The noble knight and the scientist exchanged a concerned, knowing look.

"Have you seen them lately?" Peridan pressed after a moment, his eyes wide.

I shrugged. "Not since the last time Lady Atla brought them to the Cair. Why?"

Sra Sysyks let out a hissing laugh that lasted so long I began to feel nervous. What could be so amusing?

"Tiger cubs don't stay small and easily tired out for long, Majesty," Peridan said with a smile as Sra went on hissing merrily, sounding like a tea kettle on the boil.

"Of course, but it's just been a month!" I exclaimed. "How big can they be?"

The Monitor Dragon broke off from his laughter. "Very," he said, and commenced hissing again.

"They smallest is about the size of Neville, your substitute chamberlain," the knight provided, and I let out a groan as I realized what I had gotten myself into this time. "I'll send Jaer and Jaerin along to help."

I nodded my thanks, knowing I must have looked shocked. At least six stone in weight each? What had I gotten myself into? And now Jaer and Jaerin as well? What if the cubs got hungry? At least I'd have Peridan's sons with me, either to hold them off or hold them over until supper. Peridan seemed to have read my thoughts, because he smiled. It seemed that today I was the source of all entertainment for the occupants of Cair Paravel. I shook my head and tried to look stern, but walking next to a laughing lizard is absurd even in this land of Talking Beasts and Walking Trees, and once again I just gave up and accepted my fate.

Tea was being served on the garden balcony overlooking the Eastern Sea; though thanks to the billowing fog on the shore it looked as if Cair Paravel was floating upon a cloud. There were more people present than I expected, but Lucy has a habit of asking anyone she runs into to join us, so there's nothing unusual to having tea with dignitaries and princes and storytellers and chambermaids all at once. Normally tea is very informal and a chance for us to unwind from our duties and the activities of the day. Occasionally Susan will put her foot down and make a guest list, but she's really the only one of us that fusses over such things. Edmund and I are usually more concerned about the food being served than who is sitting next to us as we eat.

I suspected that Susan was regretting not having a guest list today. She was sitting with Duchess Aneles, and with her were several of her ladies keeping sharp eyes on their children. I noticed that Lady Saera did not look as relaxed as she normally would have in such a setting, and she sat rather stiffly. As we stepped onto the balcony I saw her cast Peridan a swift glance. Remembering the knight's description of the duchess, I wondered if she needed rescuing. Susan, deep in conversation with Aneles, did not notice her lady-in-waiting's discomfort.

Avraiva, one of Lucy's ladies, served me tea. I hung back for a moment, taking in the colors and buzz of conversation as I gauged the reactions of the Archenlander nobles to the scene. They were fairly used to Narnians overall, though some of the older men had a tendency to be condescending, especially to the Talking Animals. Luckily Prince Vanine was not of that nature, being very open-minded, but I noticed even he had a little difficulty addressing the ladies outside of Susan and Lucy with the respect they were used to receiving. The embassy was in for a shock come the morn because one of the chief trade negotiators they were scheduled to meet with a Sow named Tess. I was confident she would charm them, for she was very capable and witty, and if charm didn't work then I knew she could overwhelm the lot of them with her mathematic ability, for she had quite a genius for numbers and was responsible for Cair Paravel's account books. It would be interesting, though, to see how these men reacted to dealing with a Pig.

There was no sign of Edmund yet, but Lucy had sent for her lute and she was sitting with the youngest noble from Anvard. I could hear them comparing a few songs claimed by both Narnia and Archenland, happily discussing the similarities and differences in the music of the two countries. Luckily he kept his distance and their earnest discussion was not spilling over to flirtation, proof positive that he was a man of intelligence.

A flash of pale green silk caught my eye and I looked over as Lady Anelata entered from the hall. She was walking with Peridan's daughter, Rien, and they were carrying the Fox kits Helene and Sarai. Anelata was smiling as she stroked the vixen's red fur and spoke to the younger girl in a friendly fashion, but a quick glance at their mothers showed that neither lady was very pleased. Was it because the girls were getting along or was I missing something more? I found myself gazing at Anelata's profile as she walked past, and I was reminded of an agate cameo of Queen Lis that Susan often wore. Anelata's features had the same delicate grace and subtle tones as the carved jewel, but with a warmth no stone could capture. She had blushed last night during her mother's address to me, and I wondered if she had sensed my embarrassment. I had yet to talk to her alone, and I promised myself that I would find the means of spending at least a few minutes with her before long.

"Mama," I heard Anelata say. Her voice was sweet and her pleasure with her companions was genuine. "This is Rien. Her family is from Archenland, from the vales by Anvard."

"I know," Duchess Aneles replied coolly. She looked at little Rien and I saw no softness in her blue eyes and she did not acknowledge the curtsey my friend's daughter gave her. Turning to Lady Saera, she inquired, "This is your child?"

"My youngest, Duchess," Saera said, lifting her chin and looking the noblewoman in the eye with what could only be described as defiance. "She has two older brothers, and this Christmas past the eldest was named Narnia's first White Armor Knight in over a century."

Now I will never claim to be attuned to the secret language women seem to share the world over. Normally I have to be bludgeoned over the head to fully grasp a lady's meaning and their subtlety is lost on me, but not even I could miss this polite exchange of hostilities. There must have been some sort of history between the ladies.

Two things happened at that moment to cause a distraction, though. First, Susan cut through the tension when she sat up straight on her couch and said, "Helene, would you please ask Avraiva to bring us more tea? Lady Anelata, please do sit down. Rien, will you and Sarai share my couch?"

I was impressed but not surprised at Susan's skillful handling of the moment. Aneles and Saera retreated behind manners and proceeded to politely ignore one another. It was a relief, and across the floor I saw Peridan visibly relax and strike up conversation with one of the Archenlanders.

The second thing that happened was that Edmund arrived. My brother was late as usual, carrying his crown, in the same clothes he'd worn all day, and had one wet boot. I was very glad to see him.

Alerted by his entrance, Anelata turned in her seat to look at us . . . me. She smiled sweetly and blushed the least bit before dropping her gaze and returning her attention to the other ladies.

"Sorry," Edmund said, not noticing Anelata's glance. "Dame Utha was explaining triangulation to me again and I spilled ink on my boot while taking notes and-" He broke off, dismissing the event with a wave of his hand as he clapped his crown onto his hair. "Have I missed anything?"

I nodded, my mind awhirl as I straightened his crown. I didn't even know where to start. "La. I'll tell you all tonight."

He nodded and went off in search of some coffee. I watched him go thoughtfully and when I looked around again I saw Duchess Aneles watching me. For a moment she boldly met my eye before demurely smiling at Susan. I felt myself frowning, wondering why her look should make me feel self-conscious, and suddenly it seemed to me as if the day would never end.


	4. Chapter Three: The Lady or the Tigers

**Chapter Three: The Lady or the Tigers**

_Merry Christmas to you all! - E_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"I think," Edmund said as he sat at the foot of his bed, wrapped in a blanket and looking wise and thoughtful despite his youth, "that you've hit upon the greatest difference between Narnia and Archenland. Or perhaps I should say between Cair Paravel and Anvard."

What could be more different than the relative populations of the two countries? Archenland was inhabited by humans and dumb beasts. Mainland Narnia had Talking Animals and Magical Creatures, Walking Trees and Divine Waters. My expression must have said all, because Edmund realized he was being unclear.

"We ask, they tell."

I blinked. He had listened with great interest to an account of my conversation with Peridan and the chilly encounter between the ladies afterwards. I think he was rather disappointed to have missed it, but right now he was poised to wax philosophical and I was eager for his opinion. "Do tell."

He smirked. "Think about it, Peter. Do we ever just say, 'Silvo, make us tea'?"

"Majesty?" called the Faun valet, looking into the bedroom.

"I was being rhetorical, Silvo."

"Did you want tea?" he pressed.

"No, thank you," Edmund said. "So. If I had wanted tea, I would have said, 'Silvo, could we please have some tea?' Do you see-"

"Majesty?" Silvo popped back into the room. "Tea?"

"It was a poor choice of example, Silvo. I apologize," Edmund said. "Nothing for me, thank you."

"I would like tea, Silvo," I said. "If you have a moment."

"Of course, King Peter!" He bustled off happily.

Edmund glowered and rolled his eyes at the interruption. I grinned back. "Oh, come off it, Ed! He'll be disappointed if he doesn't get a chance to putter around before turning in."

"My original point exactly, Peter. We indulge the very people who serve us. Really, how often do we give orders? How often do we need to? Outside of our royal duties, I mean. We don't tell our staff to get us tea, we ask them if they can get it. If they can't, we fetch it ourselves or go without. Can you honestly see any of these lords of Archenland or even Prince Vanine being inconvenienced or going without because their servants are busy with other tasks?"

I considered. "Not really. We're just polite. But I suppose it's a different order of polite than what's seen in Anvard," I added as I considered his words. "I wonder if King Lune ever got cracked in the head by his general." I mussed up my hair as I rubbed said appendage, remembering much love and correction landing sharply upon it from a Centaur's hand.

"By his father is more likely. I can't see even Lune tolerating his officers using such gentle methods." He yawned, something we were allowed to do only in the safety of our rooms. "But even then we indulge Oreius and Kanell because that is exactly how Centaurs show affection to their foals."

"They would think less of us if we denied them the means of showing their esteem."

"Exactly. Even as Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve, we don't set ourselves above anyone simply because of what we were born. We were not born kings and queens."

I smiled, glad we had talked. "Definitely not. That's an acquired talent."

"La," he agreed. "Good thing there's four of us."

Silvo bustled in, smiling and pleasant as he brought me some tea. I thanked him and sipped the steaming beverage, thinking for a moment. Ed was right in his assessment, and I, too was glad Narnia had four monarchs. I couldn't imagine holding off the likes of the duchess by myself.

"Did you come up with all that on your own?" I abruptly asked.

My younger brother grinned. "Of course not. I overheard the chambermaid, Ambergriet, and Lucy's lady Regand talking while you were still getting dressed for dinner. The ladies from Archenland were not so pleased to have a Skunk cleaning their rooms."

"Ah." I made a face that had nothing to do with the mouthful of hot tea I swallowed. "I suppose these things take getting used to."

"Somehow Ambergriet is good enough for our dear queens, but not quite good enough for our guests. It seems the duchess felt any Animal would shed hair on their clothes, and asked for Nymphs and Dryads to tend their rooms."

"Was Ambergriet hurt?" I asked. She was a charming little thing and a great favorite among the palace staff. That she had a constant lingering odor about her and had once sprayed one of my guards and cleared out the throne room was still a source of much mirth in the Cair.

The Just King snorted. "I rather think she was happy to be relieved of that duty."

"Oh, well said, sir," I answered, delighting in his diplomatic stance. "I think perhaps we should sit in with Tess tomorrow, at least for a little while."

He was not unaware of the Archenlander attitude toward Talking Animals. Aneles' conduct was a good indicator of what our accountant had to look forward to in the morning.

"La, I think that would be wise. I would hate for these Men to treat our good cousin with anything less than the respect she deserves." He said the word _Men_ with sharp emphasis, and I knew that he, like me, looked sharply upon the conduct of our own race and frowned upon any bad examples they might set for Narnia.

"I'm watching Ricanus and Atla's cubs tomorrow after luncheon until tea."

He gaped. "Five Tiger cubs? Peter, are you mad?"

I was beginning to think so. "Peridan is loaning me his sons. Are you with me?"

Shaking his head in wonder, Edmund happily smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Mad? That was an understatement. I was insane.

The five cubs – three boys, two girls, the smallest of them bout the same size as Lucy – were tireless. They made for an attractive family and three of them took after their grandmother, Lady Torva, who was a strikingly beautiful golden color. Gold or orange, the cubs were quite excited to visit the Cair and even more excited to be under my care for a few hours. Their father, one of the palace guards, admonished them to behave and obey their king. Their mother fixed them with her steady golden eyes and without a word cowed them into silence.

Luckily for me the day was fine and I had my troops in reserve to help me keep the cubs busy. Peridan hadn't told his sons why they were being pressed into the High King's service for the afternoon, and I'll admit their reaction to the Tigers was quite amusing. Jaer gaped for a moment and quickly recovered, but Jaerin let out a squeak that the cubs took as in invitation to pounce and he went down beneath a heap of stripes and paws and purrs as all the cubs tried to lick him with their raspy tongues. Almost instantly his alarm turned to amusement. We let him struggle for a few moments and by the time we shooed the cubs away and hauled Jaerin to his feet again, he was rather soggy, breathless from laughing, and prepared to romp.

And romp we did. It was great fun for us all. We played on the beach beside the palace, and at Edmund's suggestion we used the dunes for a game of hide-and-seek. The cubs could not bear to hide very long and inevitably gave themselves away, or a leaf torn free from a tree would blow across their path and they instinctively gave chase. They brought most of the leaves to me, whether I was hiding or seeking, and I amassed a respectable collection of prizes.

We put the rising tide to good use and tried to wear the Tigers out in the gentle surf, though in the end I think we Sons of Adam were the ones who got worn out. For safety's sake we established that no one was allowed to go deeper into the water than the top of Jaerin's boots, and the tide gradually pushed us higher on the beach. Tigers, I knew, loved to swim and the cubs thought it was immense fun to pounce on the waves and bite the salty water. We threw clumps of seaweed for them to chase and had a small battle with the floating plants. Soon afterwards a game of tag broke out in which we humans were hopelessly outmatched by our four-footed cousins.

The largest of my charges, a pale golden female named Anadyr, was 'it.' Since I had caught her tail not long before and made her the designated huntress in our little sport, she was determined to return the favor. Faced off against a Tigress, I poised, braced against the slow press of waves. I was trying not to smile in anticipation and ready to flee for my life and freedom. Anadyr lowered her head and ears and tried to growl in open imitation of her parents, but the sound that came out was more akin to a purr. So intent was she on stalking me that she didn't notice the next incoming wave was a bit larger than the others, and I certainly wasn't going to warn her. When it swamped her, I bolted. Straight past her I ran, through the ranks of Men and Tigers ranged behind her in a desperate (and futile) bid to escape. Edmund and the others set up a mighty shout, urging her to catch up as I raced through the surf. I could hear her roar out her surprise and moments later the sound of big paws striking the water reached my ears.

Several things happened all at once, then. A girl's scream rang out, high-pitched and frightened as I was dragged down by a sudden great weight on my back. I hit the sea and sand with my own surprised shout as Anadyr caught me fairly. Water closed over me for a moment and when I lifted my head clear of the brine, I was looking into the face of the happiest Tiger in all of Narnia.

"I got you! I got you! King Peter, you're it!" Anadyr cried in her childish voice, bouncing about in the shallow water and stepping all over me.

"Well done, my lady," I coughed, my mouth full of grit. I tried not to spit sand in front of her as I sat up to catch my breath.

"King Peter!"

At the alarmed call I twisted where I sat, looking up the beach. Lady Anelata, her gown flowing in the breeze, was rushing toward me. Her eyes were wide with fear. Anadyr either thought she had somehow did wrong in tackling me or the bright and drifting fabric of Anelata's dress made her look much larger and dangerous than she could ever hope to be. Either way, I suddenly had a frightened Tiger cub in my lap and arms. Completely unprepared for her weight, I let out a sound like "Oof!" and fell over with a splash. Anelata gasped, her hand covering her mouth and she let out a little cry of "Oh, no!" as she came to a halt.

"It's all right," I said to assure both ladies. I struggled to sit up again, keeping my hold on Anadyr to reassure her. She was no lightweight, but my first duty was to her. I cast a quick smile at our guest from Archenland, knowing I looked a sight once again. "Lady Anelata, forgive me for not standing at this moment. Allow me to introduce Lady Anadyr, daughter of Ricanus and Atla. Anadyr, this is Lady Anelata from Archenland."

Anadyr looked over my shoulder, uncertain but willing to take my word that all was well and this newcomer was not a threat.

"This – it – you - you're . . . not hurt," poor Anelata managed, realizing her mistake.

"Of course not, Lady. We were merely playing." I set the Tiger cub beside me and stood, automatically straightening my waterlogged tunic.

Anelata stared in open fascination at my feline charge. I could tell she was struggling to master her fear and initial impression that I was being attacked, and I thought it very brave of her to rush toward me even though I had never been in peril (as evidenced by the guards I knew were stationed around me and Edmund doing nothing). Swallowing, she curtsied slightly to Anadyr and softly said,

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Anadyr. I've never met a Tigeress before."

Anadyr looked at me desperately. "What do I say?" she begged, forgetting to lower her voice.

I leaned over and whispered in her furry ear. "Thank you. I'm happy to meet you, too."

She pressed close to my legs and hesitantly said, "I'm happy to meet you. Thank you too. Can I go now?"

"Of course. Tell my brother that I'll be along and I'm still 'it' when I get back."

She fled, as afraid of Anelata as Anelata had been of her. I smiled as I walked out of the surf. My boots were full of water and I was careful not to drip on the lady. I motioned to the pack of cubs a little distance away and explained,

"I'm their guardian until tea time. I'm sorry if our play caused you any fear."

She blushed prettily, embarrassed. "I . . . I should have guessed as much, King Peter. I . . . I'm not as used to Talking Animals as the others in our party, and I'll admit to many surprises since we arrived. I hope I haven't offended you or Anadyr in any way."

"Not at all, Lady. You're the first girl she's met besides my sisters."

She smiled and lowered her gaze, clasping her hands before her a little nervously. "Sir Peridan told me I would find you here. My mother sent me to ask you and your brother to tea tomorrow in the garden off of our rooms. She's spoken to your sisters the queens and they both are coming."

"Will you be there?" I asked.

She didn't look up, but I could see her purse her lips to keep from smiling. "Yes. Of course."

"Then I believe I can speak for my brother when I say we'll happily accept your very kind invitation."

Raising her pale blue eyes to mine, Anelata smiled. It was a broad gesture of delight, and the most genuine expression I had yet seen on her lovely face. It suited her, and I felt a rush of pleasure to be the cause of it. I found myself returning the smile as I added,

"And just to avoid awkwardness, Edmund doesn't like tea. He drinks coffee instead."

"I'll be sure to tell my mother as much. Thank you, King Peter."

"Thank you for the invitation, my lady."

She excused herself with a graceful curtsy and I watched her as she walked back across the hot sand. A sudden elbow to my ribs broke the spell.

"You're staring," my charming brother sang through clenched teeth, his bony arm digging into my side.

"She's pretty," I returned in kind. "She's asked us to tea tomorrow." I blocked his elbow with my own.

Edmund frowned as he turned with the momentum I provided. I was too mesmerized still to notice how he neatly side-stepped and put some distance between us.

Wild shouts erupted as the enthusiastic cubs pounced on me from every direction. I went down, laughing and shielding my face from their tongues as they all lay on me at once. Flat on the sand, blanketed by giggling Tigers, incapable of rising, I looked up to see my brother and friends sitting before me, enjoying the sight I made.

"In Calormen they say you can't catch a cub without going into the tiger's den," Jaer said grandly.

A tail stifled my nose. "I seem to be the exception to that rule!"

Edmund sighed and shook his head. "Peter, you've thrown wide the doors and invited the hunters in!"

I groaned as the cubs settled themselves more comfortably. They were having too much fun using me as their cushion for me protest, but their purring tickled.

"'Ware the lady as you would the tiger, good my king," warned the suddenly all-knowing and wise Jaer Peridanson. Jaerin nodded his support of this statement, but it fell to my brother to clarify.

"Was that 'ware or wear, sir?"


	5. Chapter Four: Things Narnian

**Chapter Four: Things Narnian**

"Tea you said, Your Majesty?"

Silvo's tone, I had to admit, took me aback. The nearest equivalent I could come up with at that solemn moment was just before the Battle of Beruna when General Oreius had sworn he was with me to the death. It had been as shocking as comforting to me to hear those words, and since that victorious day to this moment I had not quite experienced the same sensation of trepidation and determination, blended in measure. I looked at my valet with great interest, wondering what it was about tea with Lady Anelata that equated to riding into battle against overwhelming odds. Was he with me to the last crumpet?

"Yes, Silvo. Tea. What of it?"

"Majesty, I've been speaking to Miss Mary, Lady Saera's maidservant. She is well versed in the customs and etiquette of the court at Anvard."

Which meant to say, he had also been gossiping with the ladies, the kitchen staff, the chamber maids, and anyone else who had the least contact with the embassies from Archenland so that he could glean as much information out of them as he possible. I waited in anticipation of what he had to tell me.

"High tea in Archenland is not the casual gathering you so often enjoy here in Narnia. It's very formal, with certain forms and customs. It's considered extremely gauche if you stray from any of those forms."

"Oh. Small wonder the Duchess looked so put out a few days ago," I said, lifting my foot for him to wrestle my half-dried, sandy, salty boot off my foot. Our notion of tea was rather . . . sprawling.

"Miss Mary has struck up an acquaintance with one of the footmen for Lord Pol, and he mentioned that the guest list includes no Talking Animals and only such of the queens' ladies as closely resemble humans, such as Avraiva and Layla." His voice strained as he spoke, and I pulled back hard. He staggered a bit as finally the boot came off. With quiet despair he looked at my ruined footwear.

"Indeed?" I asked thoughtfully, and felt myself frown. I remembered Edmund's comments about Ambergriet the Skunk and the startled (and briefly stubborn) looks on the faces of the trade negotiators when they had been introduced to Tess and her assistants, a Satyr scribe named Shork and Ward Garrideb, a Gorilla and brother of my fellow soldier Athan. Stubbornness had swiftly turned to surprise as the negotiators struggled to keep up with the worthy Sow's brisk pace of talking and her staggering ability with numbers, and by the end of the day I heard reports of grudging respect for Cair Paravel's accountant (not to mention a bit of sullen annoyance when she corrected some of their math). "Narnia is perhaps disquieting for those who have never experienced her variety and magic. I was rather flabbergasted when Mr. Beaver first spoke to me."

Flabbergasted. A goodly word to express what I'd felt when in fact it was only Edmund being a beastly prat that kept me from screaming in shock at being addressed by a gigantic rodent.

"The inhabitants of Archenland have been removed from Narnia for a century, though they have long interacted with our people. Their society is more . . ."

"Structured?" I suggested.

"Stratified," he replied, holding up the boots as if he needed to arrange a funeral.

"I'll use them for the training grounds and mucking about with Edmund," I promised him. "No one cares what my boots look like when they're trying to lop my head off for my own good."

"The Calormenes would not agree."

"The Calormenes also dye their beards with saffron and indigo, sir."

Silvo smiled. "The Archenlanders do not allow their women the same power and authority and rights as the Narnians. You'll note there were no female guards or ambassadors. Their army is comprised of men alone."

A noise escaped my throat. "Can you imagine being the one to tell Captain Xati she's not allowed to fight?" I exclaimed. Almost shuddering, I added, "I'd sooner take on a Minotaur armed only with a fork. I'd have a much better chance of survival."

"I believe _all_ of Narnia would agree, Majesty."

"Kanell especially." I grappled with what he'd said, for the concept was quite foreign. "So . . . if they keep women from power, how do they get anything _done?" _I was thinking of Susan and her remarkable ability to galvanize people to work, be it together or alone. Lion knows Narnia's government would be a lot less organized if Ed and I were solely responsible for everything.

The Faun smiled at my confusion. "Says Miss Mary, women are expected to apply themselves to domestic issues and arts, music, sometimes healing, handcrafts and child rearing. War and statecraft and diplomacy are the realms of menfolk."

"So women in Archenland are simply decorations?"

"They are expected to remain in the background."

"How dull for Archenland. Especially when their ladies are so pretty," I added softly, thinking of fair eyes and golden hair. "But what if a lady won't remain quiet, I wonder." I looked up to see him watching me closely, and I got back to the matter at hand. "So. Silvo. Tea with the ladies. What must I do and not do to maintain my reputation for shining parts?"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

In the end the tea party was not quite the trial my valet had painted and I had anticipated, but I was glad of his council. Held in a pillared hall I wasn't certain I'd ever seen before or not (Cair Paravel being so very, very large and grand), one of the first things I noticed was the absence of Peridan and Saera. I noted the snub and tucked the information away for later contemplation. Silvo, I was sure, could have told me the reasons for the hostility between the two families, but it seemed a private and rather touchy matter and no business of mine.

The seating was segregated, men from women and all carefully arranged by rank as we were served refreshments. The Duchess must have consulted with the pastry chefs because many of our favorite tarts and biscuits were passed around on silver plates. It was a wise move. Snozberry jam tarts always served to put Edmund in a good mood (or at least a slightly better mood). He'd been more than a little surly at luncheon when I reported in to my siblings what was expected at formal teas in Anvard's court. _("We're kings and queens in our own palace! Why should be subject to their rules?" "It's called etiquette, Edmund dear, something you're well versed in. Besides, if you can drink Brint's beer you can drink the duchess' tea!" Susan had replied)._

It wasn't until the first round of tea had been drunk that, at a very small signal from Aneles, the gathering relaxed a bit and mingling became socially acceptable. I rose to thank our hostess, as was expected, while Edmund spotted one of the lords wearing a dirk that was clearly of Calormene design. I knew I'd seen the last of him for the next half-hour or more as he took his coffee, a plate of tarts, and made a beeline for the bit of foreign metal work.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself, King Peter," said a welcome voice, and I turned to face Anelata. She wore a frock of the palest pink, and I thought she looked quite lovely. "Thank you again for accepting our invitation."

"How could I refuse after you braved a Tiger just to ask me?"

Anelata smiled and quietly laughed, looking down for a moment to hide a flash of embarrassment. "I didn't know that Anadyr was just a baby, a – a cub," she finished, clearly not familiar with the proper names for the myriad of exotic children in Narnia. I found it charming that she was learning, though. "She seemed so fierce! As big as any of the hounds my father left or even a wolf I once saw when riding along the river Wye. That was very frightening. I think I would have like a Tiger with me then."

I was glad we had found something to converse about so easily. "Anadyr is the largest of her siblings. She'll be very happy to have been called fierce."

"Do Tigers grow quite large?"

"Yes, indeed. They're the largest of our Big Cats. Larger than most Lions I know, in fact. If you like, lady, I can introduce you to her father. He's a guard here at Cair Paravel. I can also introduce you to a Wolf who writes poetry."

"I think . . . I think I would like that, King Peter," Anelata replied, blushing pinker than her dress. She cast a swift glance toward where her mother sat amidst queens and ladies, and I remembered I had to thank the duchess for her kindness.

"Tomorrow, perhaps?" I suggested. "I could escort you to the gate before we start on the day's court."

Trying hard to suppress a smile, Anelata nodded, her eyes shining with delight. I grinned, inordinately pleased to have been the one to bring her such pleasure. I bowed to disengage myself, because I knew I could have gone on talking to her all day. "I must go thank your mother for the tea, lady, but I'll send a page 'round to greet you after lunch on the morrow. Until then."

Lucy had re-acquired her music-loving young noble and Susan was listening to something Prince Vanine was saying, so when I stepped over to Duchess Aneles I was hardly surprised that her ladies drifted away, leaving us to talk. As I sat down beside her, I thanked her for the pleasant reception.

"I hope you and your daughter are comfortable here in Cair Paravel," I said after we exchanged a few general remarks.

"Very much so," said Aneles, glancing around at the grandeur all about us. "Yours is an impressive home."

"'Tis Narnia, my lady," I said in deference to my land.

"A lovely and very varied one, to be sure, High King. I met a charming Fox today in the company of Queen Susan and I was curious, because she gave her name as _Lady_ Marion."

"Yes," I said, smiling at the mention of my friend's wife. Sir Giles and his family were great favorites in the court, and his son was my namesake. "Vixen Lady Marion Fox. She's the wife of Dog Sir Giles Shyashlar Fox, Knight of the Arrow."

My companion blinked as she absorbed these Animal titles. Almost every type of Animal had a different means of referring to themselves, and many gave themselves complex names and designations. Horses were the worst offenders, favoring long, showy, and highly unpronounceable names. Others, like Okapi, liked simple means of addressing males and females, while others, such as the Tortoises who cared for the nut orchard, had no use at all for titles of any sort and called us by name (when they called us anything at all).

"What . . . what is she lady of?"

I noticed the careful tone Aneles used, and I knew she was seeking information. Well, talking about titles was no state secret, so I replied, "She's a lady of Narnia."

"Has her family any land? Or her . . . husband?"

Like her daughter, she seemed to struggle with proper terms. "Marion comes from the swamps on the Southern Marches, where her family has lived for generations on end. Sir Giles' family dwells not far from the Lantern Waste."

"She's the lady of a swamp?"

"Not _of_ a swamp, she just _comes_ from a swamp."

"But who owns the land? The Foxes?"

I finally caught her meaning. "No one. Narnia, the whole land, belongs to Narnians. You might own your home, but no one can own the land."

"So . . . it belongs to the crown?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No. Everything belongs to Aslan. We use the land, we work it and mine it and farm it, and in the end we all return to it. So I can't own Narnia any more than I myself can be owned. I'm part of it and it's part of me and every native of this land is my cousin."

I could tell the notion of being related to a beast or tree or body of water was rather unsettling to her, but rather than pursue such questionable lineage, she carried on with what interested her most at the moment.

"But surely as High King . . ."

With a smile I accepted another cup of tea from Layla, one of Susan's ladies-in-waiting, thought the duchess did not quite hide all her displeasure at the minor interruption. I kept talking to keep her attention, determined that no fault should be attached to the Nymph. "I actually _own_ very little. My armor is mine, I suppose. It really won't fit anyone else. I have my sword and crown and my horse. I have some books and odd gifts but most everything else is mine simply by virtue of the fact that I make use of it."

This was not what she was expecting to hear. "So . . . your aristocracy?"

I considered before answering. "Ours is an aristocracy of character, Duchess. Simply being Narnian ennobles all my cousins. Every male is addressed as 'sir' and every female is worthy of the title 'lady.'"

She sparked to this, feeling on safer grounds. "Have you no noble families?"

"Yes," I replied. "All of them."

She laughed a little nervously, and I think she believed she was being teased. "They can't _all_ be noble!"

I wasn't laughing. "Why not?"

"Why, King Peter, then everyone in the country would a courtier! A peer!"

"Exactly. That's why my siblings and I _ask_ instead of _order_. I'm glad you understand, Duchess."

"But . . . you must have a hierarchy of worthies!"

"Whatever for?" I wondered. "We have our advisors and teachers and Parliament, and there are degrees within crafts and ranks in the army, but no real hierarchy."

"You are the High King! You are above the others, placed there by Aslan himself!"

"I'm High King by virtue of having been born first. I am not above any member of my family unless we absolutely can't make up our minds. I am not above the least member of Cair Paravel's staff. I go to war with these people, help them to bring in the harvest, and I listen to whoever advises me best. I care for my own horse when I ride him, I carry my own weapons to the armory, and I serve as I am served. There are some things like laundry and weeding that I'm not allowed to do because I'm so awful at it, but I have tried." I watched her closely as these revelations staggered her. "You seem surprised."

"I am. It is not every king, high or low, that would so humble himself."

"I don't know what you mean by a low king, Duchess," I said a little coolly, "for no such thing exists in this land, but I don't see how being modest and unassuming and lending a hand can be considered a failing."

She lifted her chin slightly, weighing this polite rebuke. "I spoke out of line, King Peter. You astonish me with your humility."

Disappointed was more like, it seemed. I bowed my head, choosing to ignore her poor choice of words in light of her ignorance of things Narnian. I wasn't in any way offended. Narnia was so vast and diverse that it was difficult for some people to take in. I wondered what the Duchess of Chlanda-on-Wye would say if she knew that Queen Lucy was constantly reminded to put on shoes and that King Edmund was the adopted son of a Dwarf clan and Queen Susan, when she learned that Ambergriet could not read, paid for the schooling of young Skunks, and that I was waiting with quiet anticipation to be godfather to a whole clutch of crowned cranes, whenever they decided to hatch and grace us with their company.


End file.
